"No, dear," mournfully.
Tea came in, and was dispensed by Fulvia; in the midst of which operation a fly drove up to the front door.
Daisy capered to the window, and peeped out.
"Oh, it is Mr. Carden-Cox! With a huge parcel! Here he comes! Fulvie's birthday, of course," cried thoughtless Daisy. "How jolly! I said he was sure to come."
"You little goose!" breathed Nigel.
And "Daisy!" Fulvia uttered impatiently.
But the culprit heard neither.
"He's coming!" she exclaimed again.
And Mr. Browning put his hand to his side, as the door opened to a rustle of brown paper.
Mr. Carden-Cox carried the parcel—a big one, as Daisy had said. He was in one of his excited states—that could be seen at once. Fulvia rose to greet and silence him, but found herself powerless. She might as well have tried to stem a rivulet with her hand. By going forward she only absorbed the whole of his attention, and rendered him unconscious of Mr. Browning's presence.